


Lady of Andúnië

by Grundy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Second Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: A brief vignette of a newly wed Silmariën in her new home.
Relationships: Elatan/Silmariën (Tolkien)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9
Collections: Innumerable Stars 2020





	Lady of Andúnië

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isilloth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilloth/gifts).



Silmariën gazed out over her new home from the balcony of her bedroom, watching raptly as the sun painted the sea a dazzling arrary of oranges and purples.

Andunië was beautiful.

“Come back to bed, my darling,” Elatan called.

“I will,” she answered. “But I want to see the sunset first.”

He laughed.

“You can see it just as well from here!”

“Yes, but not the _sea_ …”

Sunsets over the water were a novelty. She had spent her eighty years in Armenelos and occasionally Romenna, and was more used to a clear view of the rising sun than the setting.

A blanket draped itself over her shoulders, still body-warm.

“If you will not come to bed, I’ll bring the bed to you,” Elatan said, wrapping her against the evening breeze. “What would I tell your father if you catch your death of cold on our honeymoon?”

“A few minutes looking at the sea isn’t going to give me such a chill,” she giggled. “But as you are here…”

He pulled her snug against him, leaning his chin on her shoulder.

“And do you find the westlands to your liking, my lady?” he asked.

“Yes. I think we will be very happy here.”

“I am relieved to hear it,” he said quietly.

“Surely you are not still fretting about that?” she sighed. “I have accepted that I was outmaneuvered. It may be a bitter pill to swallow, but it was not _your_ fault.”

“I cannot forget how much you gave up for me,” he replied. “You might have been queen, not merely a lady of Andúnië.”

“The price of being queen was to forgo marrying where my heart was given and accept being tied to one of Aulendil or Nolendil’s grandsons,” she reminded him.

Most likely one of the Nolendili – Axantur in particular seemed determined to see one of his line on the throne, though it was his brother Oromendil who had sons of an age with Silmariën. Axantur’s sons were forty and fifty years younger than her, and while Cemendur wasn’t terrible, Ardamir was a spoiled fop.

“That is the only way I would have been ‘permitted’ the Scepter. And even then, I would have been queen in name only, for I know they would have fought my rule every step of the way. It would have been a still more bitter price and yielded far less.”

She turned her head from the sea to the city. It ran from the shoreline up into and among the slopes, and was larger again than Armenelos by at least half. The architecture was subtly different than the city of the kings, but it was the gardens that showed where the Elves had left their mark. Her own garden, a wedding present from her husband’s family, had plants in it that had been brought all the way from Valimar.

“Andúnië is fair, and has many visitors from the West. Perhaps I may even meet those who are kin to me.”

Silmariën turned again, this time to face her husband, slipping the ends of her blanket around him so they were both wrapped in it.

“And more important than far, I have _you_. I would rather marry for love and live with you in the meanest hut in Forostar than wear an empty crown in Armenelos the Golden and know myself a prisoner, caught by my own pride and too foolish to see sense before it was too late.”

It hit her like a cold wave – _pride will be the downfall of Numenor –_ but the foresight was gone nearly as quickly as it had come. If this was how that gift worked, she was just as happy to never have experienced it before.

Despite the warmth of both the blanket and Elatan, she shivered.

“I told you you’d catch a chill,” her husband sighed, lifting her off her feet. “Back to bed with you!”

She didn’t argue, or even try to explain, just laughed as he carried her back to their bed, kicking the door to the balcony closed behind him.

It was her honeymoon. There would be time enough later to ponder both her own foresight and whatever her father had seen that led him to give her the Ring of Barahir – a time when Elatan was not being such a delightful distraction in his efforts to ‘warm’ her…

Besides, she would much rather think on beginnings than endings.


End file.
